


The Way of the Nobility

by beadedslipper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But he tries too hard and it blows up in his face, Cullen tries to be romantic, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beadedslipper/pseuds/beadedslipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen wants to be with the Inquisitor but he doesn't know how to make it happen.  He decides to court her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way of the Nobility

One of the first things Cullen found out about the Herald, now Inquisitor, was that she was noble. Noble, female, able to close portals to the demon world thanks to a mysterious mark on her hand. In light of the situation her nobility was actually one of the least remarkable things about her. He never gave it much thought beyond how her nobility might buy resources and favors for the Inquisition. It helped that she had the same attitude of indifference in regard to how blue her blood might be.

But now, things have changed.

They left Haven for Skyhold.

They were dealing with a monster out of time and legend.

Cullen wanted to be with the Inquisitor.

Romantically.

Things have changed indeed.

She started out as more of an abstraction than a person. She was a convenient vessel for a long-dead goddess and a rallying point for their troops. But over time she became one of the most real things in his life. The way she chewed her lip when she was concentrating, how her thumb worried the Anchor whenever she was upset, the way she smiled at him, brighter and sweeter than she did anyone else. She was a person. A strong, caring, wonderful person who took the circumstances she was given and made something amazing. All of this made him admire and respect her. Her shy flirtations and her genuine concern for his wellbeing were what made him love her.

He’s ready to take the next step. He wants to start a life with her. So what they were in the middle of a war? So what she was his superior?

Life was too short and painful not to grab happiness when it showed itself. If they both wanted this, and they did, he was sure of it, why else would she smile at him so softly and blush when he smiled back, then what reason did they have to pretend otherwise?

However, he knows he can’t just go up to her and, with his usual charm and presence of mind, stutter something until she gets the hint and ends up asking him out. No. She is nobility.

Therefore, he will court her.

Ever the military man, he puts together a plan of attack. He will bring her flowers. On his few trips outside the Circle he saw frescoes of a gentleman, on one knee, holding flowers up to his beloved. It seems like something gentry from Val Royeux would do.

He surreptitiously slips a requisition onto the top of the pile, calling for fresh embrium, crystal grace, and black lotus. He signs off on the requisition himself and sends Scout Harding on her merry way. He would go pick the blooms himself, would prefer to in fact, but he knows that would raise more questions than he wants. He is needed too much here. For him to leave Skyhold, for any reason, would be both irresponsible and entirely too telling.

So he waits, impatiently, for the blooms to arrive in his tower. He thanks the Maker that, when they do, it is on a day that the Inquisitor is in Skyhold. He arranges the bouquet himself, tying it with a strip of red cloth that matches his cloak.

Then he heads to the war room for their council. He gets lucky and arrives first. He stows the bouquet in an alcove. He wants to give it to her when they’re alone.

Leliana and Josephine arrive together, as they always seem to do. The Inquisitor rushes in last, slightly breathless and apologetic.

The meeting begins and he is so engrossed in the work, and in thoughts of his first courting gift, that at first he doesn’t notice when the Inquisitor starts to sniffle.

He registers distantly when her nose starts to turn red but doesn’t think much of it.

He does notice, along with everyone else, when she sneezes explosively, rattling the table.

“Are you alright?” Josephine asks.

The Inquisitor rubs her nose, her eyes bleary. “Andraste, what is that?” She prowls the room. The closer she comes to the corner where his gift is hidden, the more tense he gets. Of course, she wouldn’t be their Inquisitor if she didn’t notice things and she quickly finds the bouquet. She holds it up as far from her body as she can. “Who in the world put this in here?”

She immediately marches over to the window, opening the latch and, before he can make a sound, tossing the whole thing out. She wipes her hands on her breeches, leaving the window open to air out the room.

“Was that an assassination attempt do you think?” Leliana jokes. The Inquisitor shoots her a glare.

“What?” Cullen asks.

The Inquisitor looks at him, annoyance clear on her face. “I’m allergic to Crystal Grace.”

It is only by the Maker’s divine intervention that Cullen doesn’t slap his palm to his face.

\---

After the first disastrous attempt, Cullen decides he needs backup. He tries Sera first. They always seem to be laughing together, she must know the Inquisitor well.

“Heya Captain Fussbucket. What’s on?” She asks when he sits down at her table and offers her a mug of ale.

He explains quickly, bracing himself for her jokes. But instead, Sera just smiles, softly and, oddly, in a way that doesn’t look like she finds him hilarious.

“I never thought ya’d work up the nerve. Good on ya Tightpants.”

“So…you’ll help?”

She grins. “’Course. I’m not totally depraved. You want her, she wants you, and I’m gonna help you both get your heads out yer arses and get it together. Sounds like good fun.”

“So…what should I do?” He asks eagerly.

She deliberates, pursing her lips and drumming her fingers on the table. “Music!” She finally exclaims.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You gotta serenade her. Stand outside her window all charming and shit and sing her a love song. She loves that romantic tripe.”

“S…sing to her?” He repeats, slightly nervous. He has to admit, it sounds very much like something the nobility he has met would do. It’s just…singing.

She smirks. “Don’t worry. I’ll help ya.”

That night he finds himself standing on the mountainside below the Inquisitor’s balcony, heart in his throat and preparing to serenade the woman he loves. Sera crouches in a nearby bush, for moral support she says.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and sings.

“ _Find me, still searching, for some-one to lead me.  Can you, guide me, to the revolt inside me..._ ”

The tune stutters when he sees a light come on above him but he rallies, putting more feeling into his lyrics. His lady love comes out to meet him. Like a scene out of a play, she opens the door, sweeps out gracefully into the night air, looks over the railing…

“Who in Andraste’s ass is singing at one in the morning?!” She cries, stomping out onto her balcony and glaring down at him.

His song cuts off in his throat, partly because her crass words have shattered whatever fanciful image was building in his head, but mostly because of the way she looks., She is wearing a nightgown. He’s never seen her in anything softer or more feminine than that tan outfit she wears around Skyhold. Her nightgown is white and filmy and she looks like something out of one of his wildest fantasies, all lit up by the moonlight with her dark hair falling around her shoulders in waves. His mouth works around words that he doesn’t have.

“Cullen?” She finally spots him, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“…Hi.” He sort of half waves.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh…singing to you?” He says, too dumbstruck to be anything other than honest.

Her brow furrows which worries him. Perhaps she didn’t like the song? But then her lips twitch in a pleased little smile and she ducks her head bashfully. That seems…encouraging.

“Okay…but, why?”

He hears Sera make a little noise to his right and he can’t help glancing over at her in confusion. “B…because I thought you’d like it?”

She shifts, sort of swinging her shoulders back and forth. “Oh. Well.”

The night is tense with longing. His hands curl into fists as he tries to contain his impatience and his insane urge to blurt every feeling he’s ever had for her. Finally he can take it no longer.

“D-did you?”

“I…”

He never gets his answer. Unable to contain herself any longer and struck silly by how stupidly awkward they were being, Sera collapses into uproarious laughter, rolling around in the snow unabashedly. The Inquisitor’s head snaps in her direction.

“Sera!” She screams. “Oh, I should’ve known you were behind this. I’m going to kill you!”

The Inquisitor darts from the balcony, no doubt to exact her revenge on the madly giggling elf. Sera manages to pick herself up enough to run away, still laughing hard enough to wake the keep.

Cullen is left standing in the moonlit snow, completely lost and totally unsure whether his plan had the desired effect.

\---

He decides the incident with Sera was his own fault. He should’ve known better. This time he goes to Dorian, the self-proclaimed romantic of their little band.

He hardly opens his mouth before Dorian says, “So, you’re finally ready to romance our lovely Inquisitor?”

“H-how did you know?”

Dorian scoffs. “Please. You two have been dancing around each other since she appeared like an angel out of the snow. It’s past time if you ask me. Fortunately for you, you’ve come to the right place.”

“You know what to do?”

“Without doubt.”

“And it’ll work?” Cullen insists. He is tired of making a fool of himself.

Dorian slings an arm around his shoulders. “Please, my friend, have a little faith.”

Cullen tries. After all, he knows very little about the way the nobility court each other. Dorian is noble too, albeit Tevinter. But even a foreign nobleman has to know more about courting than a farm boy from Honnleath.

Dorian lends him clothes. The breeches are black and too tight. The coat is blue and gold and high on his neck and also too tight. Cullen feels very exposed without his armor and his pauldrons.

He stands in the center of the grand hall, miraculously cleared of both furniture and people. He doesn’t ask how Dorian did it. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know.

Dorian himself sits relatively innocuously in the far corner, poised over a harpsichord and ready to play as soon as the Inquisitor makes her entrance.

When she finally does enter, looking around the room in curious confusion, his breath catches in his throat. She is dressed as she always is when she’s at Skyhold, but he still finds her beautiful.

She approaches him where he stands at the base of the dais, casting an incredulous glance at where Dorian sits, smirking like it’s his job.

“Cullen? What’s going on? The runner said it was urgent.”

He clears his throat, bowing slightly and looking up at her with a smile. “May I have this dance my lady?”

“Dance? What…”

Dorian strikes up a tune on the harpsichord, the same one Cullen sang below her window, and she lets out a gay laugh. She curtsies with invisible skirts. “It would be my pleasure good sir.”

She takes his hand and he sweeps her into the steps of the dance that he has spent the last three days practicing. His right hand supports the small of her back, holding her close to him. His left hand intertwines with hers and he smiles down at her. It is going _wonderfully_.

“So, not that I’m complaining because this is really, just, sweet, but, what brought all this on?”

His smile widens. This is his chance. “There’s…well, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. For quite a while actually.”

She quirks an eyebrow, her face brightening. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He draws their joined hands to rest on his chest as the music modulates, becoming slower, more intimate. “I…”

A sudden twang echoes in the hall, startling them both. They tense, combat training kicking in as they search for a bowman.

“Oh Andraste’s holy tits!” Dorian curses.

They both look over to see him struggling frantically with the harpsichord. The mage looks up desperately at Cullen. “A string broke!”

Cullen feels very still, very calm. Everything is fine. Yes. Everything is fine. It just appears that, for some reason, the Maker does not want him to make his feelings known to this marvelous woman.

“Cullen?”

The Inquisitor is looking up at him in concern. He wonders what she sees in his face.

“My apologies Inquisitor.” He releases her. “I just recalled an urgent matter that requires my immediate attention. Excuse me.”

He turns to go but a firm hand on his elbow yanks him into place.

“Oh no you don’t.” She says. She comes around to stand in front of him. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting odd for days.”

His lips thin but he doesn’t say anything. He will not make more of a fool of himself in front of her.

Her hand slides up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Cullen, please.”

He meets her eyes unwillingly. They are bright and pleading with him for…something. “Just talk to me.” She begs.

He sighs heavily, all of the fight going out of him.

“You are a noble lady.”

Her brows reach her hairline. That isn’t what she was expecting him to say. “Technically yes. I don’t think about it much.”

“I didn’t either.” He admits. He falls silent again, lost in his own thoughts.

“But…” She prompts.

“But then...we came here…and, you said those things in the courtyard…about being glad that I was safe…and I felt the same way. I wanted to do something about it but….you’re noble, so I was trying to…well, flowers and singing and a dance…”

He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair and likely ruining it. Words were not his strong suit. That’s what all this was supposed to get around.

Her eyes widen in understanding. “Oh you dear, sweet man! You were trying to court me!” She exclaims.

He ducks his head. “Yes.” He admits, his whole body alight with embarrassment at his failure.

Suddenly he has his arms full of incredibly enthusiastic Inquisitor. She hugs him, her arms tight around his neck, her cheek pressed to his. “Thank the Maker you finally did something. I thought I’d be an old maid before you took the hint.” She admits, her breath a warm gust against his ear.

He places her gently on the floor, pulling away only to arms’ length. “So, you mean…you feel the same way?”

Her smile is radiant, lighting up her whole face. “Do you really have to ask?”

A smile teases his lips. “I suppose not. But it’s still nice to hear.”

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford, I am completely and utterly over the moon for you.”

He grins, embarrassment replaced by a bubbling happiness. “My lady Inquisitor, I can’t think of anything but you. You fill my every waking thought and tease me in my dreams. I love you.”

Her eyes soften and she melts into him. “You know, you’re much better at this romance thing than you give yourself credit for.”

He hates how easily he blushes. “Thank you.”

Her hand cups his cheek and her thumb rubs soothingly over his stubble. “I really appreciate all the effort you put into this. But I want you to know, I don’t need any of that. I just want you.”

Well that’s certainly comforting. In fact, it makes his chest heat up in a very pleasant way. But, even if she doesn’t feel like she needs romance, he wants to give it to her.

“I just wanted to make you happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

She breathes in sharply and the next thing he knows she is pressing her lips firmly, ardently to his. His body seems to know what to do because his arms band around her waist and his eyes fall shut as he kisses her back with just as much passion.

They break apart slowly, both loathe to end the moment. He can’t resist the urge to brush his lips softly across hers, just once more. Her eyes flutter open and she gazes up at him adoringly, making him feel…transcendent.

Dorian’s happy sigh sounds from behind them. “So beautiful.” He whimpers.

Cullen rolls his eyes and brings his head back down to kiss her again.

No matter how he got here, there is nowhere he’d rather be in the world.


End file.
